Constellations
by Elenluin
Summary: Roy sits in the dark and contemplates the night sky on a quiet evening before returning to Ishbal. Once back in the desert, the stars provoke different memories. Post-Promised day.
1. Chapter 1

He had turned off the last light. There were no curtains that impeded his sight, and he could see the night sky through the large glass panes of the windows that led to his balcony. There was no reflection of his furniture, now that it was completely dark inside.

He sat in his sofa, a glass of wine in one hand, the fingers of the other drawing patterns on the soft fabric of his couch. With a sigh, he leant back his head. He should have gone to sleep a long time ago, but he just couldn't get himself to stand up.

Instead he kept on staring outside. Gas lamps lit the road that ran behind his house, and the darkness was frequently disturbed by the headlights of passing cars, though the last one had been a while ago. Even here in lively Central City, things came to a stop at two in the morning.

Now he could see the stars from where he was sitting. Only a few though, only the brightest ones. People here had no trouble whatsoever to find the constellations. Any child could point out the Plough, the Hunter, the Sisters.

There had been a different place. A place where the whole sky was covered with tiny specks of light. A dazzling spectacle, beautiful and fascinating. And disorientating. Always disorientating when you had to rely on the sky for your navigation, searching for the brightest of stars, ever unsure if this or that twinkling light was the right one.

Soon he would have to go back to that place. He had agreed to go, had never hesitated really, but while he had prepared for his return for months, he had to admit that he was frightened now.

People were looking at him to fix things, to make things better. He knew it was his duty, his goddamn duty after all he had done to destroy the very land he would return to. But they didn't understand. It was so much harder to decide what to do, how to act, when you knew there was more at stake than just the rehabilitation of a province, the attempts at peace of a new government.

He softly laughed, even though there was no one there to hear. How much easier life was for those who believed a few constellations were all that existed.

They did not have to worry about the manoeuvrings in the dark of those who wanted to oppose this new policy. They did not need to think about getting sufficient food to the area, about stimulating long term economic development, about getting the local people to actually believe in the possibility of peace between them. Still _he_ had to. If he really wanted to make up for his crimes, he _had _to.

He wasn't afraid of the magnitude of the task that awaited him. No, the time was right to start this effort, and he would find plenty that supported him.

He was afraid that he would lose his way.

It wasn't like it hadn't happened before. Only recently, he had lost himself in hatred, in revenge. Who knew, it could happen again.

In that place, it would not be hard to lose himself in self-loathing, in regret, in grief. If that should happen, he would not be able to do anything for the people he had so miserably failed before. He knew that.

Once, when he was just a dog of the military, lost in the desert, he would have used his compass to help him identify the right route.

Now he had refused to ask her to join him on this mission. She had already been through too much because of him. He would have to find another way to keep him on course.

With a thud, he put his empty glass on the small coffee table. He stretched out and yawned, but grimaced as his abdomen reminded him that his skin wasn't as supple anymore as it used to be.

Funny that his largest scar dated from long after the war. He had somehow thought that he had seen the worst of combat there in Ishval, he again had been wrong.

He stumbled towards his closet, taking out his futon. He rolled it out and tried not to think on the fact that he would have to rise again in a mere four and a half hours to get to work in time.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, the curtains still open, the stars still twinkling above. Nothing had changed, and yet everything would.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun disappeared behind the horizon and left behind a soft red glow. With a sigh, Roy leant back on his elbows. The sand felt warm at his back. It was a comforting feeling, but he knew better than to think that it would last. Temperature was a fickle thing in the desert.

He had walked to the top of a dune, a cup of minted tea in his hand, to watch the sunset. It had been truly magnificent, as he had known it would be, but now the light had gone and his tea was cold and he found himself as alone as a Brigadier General of the Amestrian army could be on a mission in what not so long ago had been hostile territory.

His sentries had had the decency to keep their distance though, and all he could see now of those that had accompanied him here, were a few shadows moving around the fire just below him that stood out in the spreading darkness.

It helped that they feared him, he supposed. His men knew he wasn't a paper-pushing type of officer, despite the lieutenant's best efforts of turning him into one. They threw each other furtive glances when they thought he wasn't looking, and the weary look in their eyes made him smile. Hawkeye would scold him should she ever find out, but he thought it best that they feared him. They were so very young, these soldiers that had been forced to accompany him here. Blank slates, all of them, fresh from the academy, no experience whatsoever in combat. It was a good thing, to have recruits again who had not been exposed to the cruelty of war for at least their first three years in the army, who did not feel the pressure and fear that came with a pending deployment to the front lines just after graduation. At least Grumman agreed with him on that point. Protecting the young was near the top of both of their lists.

He let the grains of sand slip through his fingers. Already temperatures were dropping. He rolled down the sleeves of his uniform shirt. His jacket had remained in his tent, and he refused to wear one of the white mantles the army still provided to its soldiers in desert territory. Despite the comfort they offered, he knew he would never be able to shake off the memories they carried. Not here.

With a sigh he laid himself down entirely, crossing his arms behind his head. Thousands of blue-white specs lit the night sky and for a moment melancholy threatened to wash over him.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he had almost missed the soft footsteps in the sand. Almost, but not quite.

"Sir?"

With a groan Roy pushed himself up again. "What is it, Major?" Miles wore the white Ishvalan tunic, and the formless garb somehow seemed strange on the tall, muscled man. Perhaps it was because he was used to seeing him in Amestrian clothing, perhaps it was something else. Not for the first time today Roy realised that despite his red eyes, Miles did not entirely belong here either.

"Dinner's ready, sir. The cook wonders if you will eat in your own tent or in the common area."

What Miles really meant was that the soldiers wondered if he was one of those jovial officers who ate with his men. He was not. "Tell him to send it to my tent, I'll be right there. Oh and Miles, I will not want any other 'guests' tonight. Tomorrow's negotiations are critical for the success of our mission, and I would like to read those last reports."

Miles nodded, and Roy thought he saw a glimmer of understanding in his bright red eyes before he descended to the tents again.

Roy too rose, throwing one last glance at the sky. There had been days that he had watched these very same stars with a dear friend, looking for something, anything to fight the overwhelming despair. He did not like to remember those times. Of course he had found little comfort in a few burning balls of gas, but Hughes had loved them, and that had been enough for both of them. Maes always had been a hopeless romantic.

He slid down the hill. The sentries saluted when he passed by, but he barely noticed them. Instead he made for his tall white tent. Being a General had its perks, at least he didn't need to share anymore.

Inside, he found a little table waiting for him, on it were a bowl of steaming stew and a few candles. He sank down on the cushions and started to eat, but he hadn't even taken three bites when he abruptly stopped and let the nausea wash over him. It had become some kind of habit. He sat silently, taking deep breaths, waiting for the feeling to disappear. He could hear laughter through the thin walls of his tent.

It was best he wasn't there with them, they would never continue their merrymaking should he be there. Superiors tended to have that effect on their men. Especially superiors as notorious as the Flame Alchemist, whose deeds were now even part of the curriculum at the academy.

He had stormed into Grumman's office, ignoring all protocol, the day he had first found out that some foolish historian had included the hero of Ishval in the standard Amestrian history textbook. It had taken quite some persuasion, but at least Grumman had made sure that as of the second version, the text was adapted to reflect reality. Now the new recruits looked at him with more fear than admiration in their eyes, and that suited him just fine. People had a right to know whom he truly was.

Roy purposefully took a piece of bread and forced it down his throat. Hawkeye would never let him out of her sight again should he lose significant weight on this trip, and he already had skipped his lunch. He decided to leave the stew for what it was, and just take another piece of the flat bread with him to his improvised desk. The stack of reports to read was depressingly low. However much he complained about paperwork, on a night like this he certainly could use some boring reports to keep his mind from wandering. With a sigh, he rumbled through his personal luggage until he found a bundle of paper. It was a Xinghese treaty on the use of heat-generating Alkahestry to cure scar tissue pains. Al had sent it a while back, and he had never managed to find the time to properly read it. He lightly touched his abdomen. The youngest Elric had not changed. He still cared more for others than for himself. The thought frightened Roy. Alphonse was so much like Maes when he was young.

Roy rubbed his eyes and put the papers away again as the thought lingered. Maes. He had not expected it, but everything, literary everything here in the desert made him think of his friend. There was only one way out. He dug deeper in his bag and fished out a half-empty bottle of whisky. He did not need a glass.

Bottle in hand, he slipped out of his tent again. The laughter still resounded loudly in the cool desert air. At least his men would not miss him. When he passed the guard, all he got was an impeccable salute before the youth stared straight ahead into the darkness again. This soldier at least knew when to shut up. Roy made a mental note to commend the youngster on his good judgement in the morning.

He half-slid up the hill again, until he could pretend to be alone once more. A silent figure on a sandy dune in the middle of the desert.

He looked up, raising his uncorked bottle to the sky in a silent salute and took a long swig. The negotiations tomorrow were important, but he was sure Grand Cleric Scar would understand if he had a headache.


End file.
